“If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence like this with you. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. Their conversation hung. It was an impulse. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself.
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